After finishing, Harry picked up the black tea beside him and took a large gulp. He did not dare look at Lockhart, as though that might suppress the urge to turn and run.
Lockhart looked at the diary for a long time.
He reached out, his fingers hovering above the cover without touching it. Then he lowered his hand.
"Would you be willing to give it to me?" His voice was very soft, soft enough to sound as though he were soothing a child awakened from a nightmare.
Harry nodded. His eyes were red, but he did not cry. He pushed the diary a little closer to Lockhart. Lockhart picked it up and opened the cover. The title page was blank. The second, third, and fourth pages—all blank. There was no trace of anything, no lingering magic, nothing at all.
He closed the diary, set it on the corner of the table, then walked over to Harry and placed a hand on his shoulder. The hand was not heavy, but it was steady.
"Harry, you were very brave. Very good. I'll give this thing to Professor McGonagall. She'll deal with it properly, so you don't need to worry about what comes next. We'll keep it confidential. You—do you feel a little better now?"
Harry took several deep breaths, then nodded. "After handing over the diary, I—I don't seem as tired as before. That feeling of always wanting to sleep, of not being interested in anything, seems to really be gone. Before—every night before bed, I had to touch the diary's cover before I could feel at ease. Otherwise, I always felt empty inside. Now that the diary is gone... I don't know whether I should be happy or sad."
Lockhart removed his hand from Harry's shoulder. He sat back down,